


For You

by skyhill



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Blood, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5165333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyhill/pseuds/skyhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt had been thinking about this for a while. So long, in fact, he couldn’t recall a day it didn’t cross his mind at least once. And here he stood, staring down at the tub of warm water with a silver rectangle clutched between his fingers. A blade. He was finally going to do it.</p>
<p>Newt was going to kill himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For You

**Author's Note:**

> Quick little reminder that this fic DOES contain self-harm and a suicide attempt. If these things trigger you in any way PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE proceed with caution.
> 
> ***ALSO this is not me trying to romanticize self harm/suicide in any way. A friend asked me to write a modern take on Newt’s suicide with some Minewt on the side so I did. If it seems romanticized in any way I truly apologize and would appreciate if you let me know how I can alter it to make it better.***

Newt had been thinking about this for a while. So long, in fact, he couldn’t recall a day it didn’t cross his mind at least once. And here he stood, staring down at the tub of warm water with a silver rectangle clutched between his fingers. A blade. He was finally going to do it.

Newt was going to kill himself.

He placed the blade down on the bathtub’s porcelain edge before sliding his feet across the tile towards the sink. He began to unwrap the material he wore around his wrist like an accessory, hiding months worth of pain below the brown cotton. Once it was off, he threw it down into the sink and lifted his chin. Newt almost jumped upon seeing his own reflection. It didn’t look like him. His tired eyes held no shine or emotion. His chapped and bloodied lips were pulled into a straight, unfeeling line. His hair was ruffled as it usually was, but it held no volume. His cheeks looked and felt hollow, as if they were drawn towards his tongue inside. He hadn’t eaten properly for a while.

He ignored his stomach growling at the thought of food and made his way back to the side of the tub. Spidery fingers yanked his clothes off his frail frame, leaving the boy in nothing but his briefs. He didn’t care how he looked.

_Can’t be embarrassed when you’re dead._

He raised a foot and lowered it into the water. Once he was in, he couldn’t stop. Another foot was in and within seconds he was lowering himself in. It welcomed him like an old friend and he welcomed it right back, letting out a content sigh as the warmth spread through him. Warmth that would soon be returned to cold.

_Ironic,_  he thought. _Maybe the water will keep me warm until they find me._

A shaky breath passed his lips as he reached for the blade, slipping it back in it’s place between his fingers. Extending his arm, he examined his scar filled wrist. Horizontal lines ran across his skin like lines in a book, each one telling a story Newt would rather not recall. Not now. It was time for the final chapter.

With another deep breath, he made he first cut.

Vertical, intersecting with multiple others as he dragged it further and deeper. He let out a hiss and shut his eyes tight, but didn’t stop until he was a third way down his forearm.

By the time he opened his eyes again, the water was already tinted pink. He didn’t bother looking at the cut he made before starting on the next arm.

Once he was finished, he laid his head back and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his wrists. He ignored the sound of the steady trickle of blood hitting the water from reopened wounds, and he ignored the ever increasing thickness of the water surrounding. He blocked out every noise, shutting his eyes again and trying to focus on nothing but the fading nature of his own consciousness.

Just before it claimed him, he heard a key in the doorway. He knew exactly who it was but he didn’t even have the strength to panic.

_I’m sorry, Minho._

And then he was gone.

* * *

Minho’s day had been completely average. He only had one class in the morning, and the rest of his day was spent with his friend, Thomas. They went for a run and studied and were actually productive, before landing themselves on the couch of Thomas’ apartment. They had been laying there playing video games for so long, yelling and raging at each other and laughing and cheering in victory, that they both had begun to lose their voices. By now they were a bit more calm, just focusing on the game. Until Thomas spoke up, anyways.

“So, Newt’s sick huh?”

“Yeah,” Minho answered, shrugging. “S'what he told me, anyways. Probably just doesn’t wanna see your ugly face.”

“Okay, first of all, asshole, I’ll have you know that my mom thinks I’m handsome.” he huffs, making Minho bark out a laugh. “Anyways, you’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Oh? And why is that, my incredibly clever and skilled friend Thomas that tripped over his own feet not even 5 minutes ago while going to the bathroom?” Minho asked, earning a glare from his friend.

“Because, Newt is sick and you’re here.” Thomas said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, and?” Minho drew out his words.

Thomas scoffed. “And, you’ve been completely, head over trainers in love with him since like, junior year of high school, dude.”

“Still not makin’ sense, man. What does this have to do with-”

“He needs someone to take care of him, and you’re playing video games with my dumb ass!” the brunette yells, throwing his controller down.

Minho smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

“Shut up and go check on him, you jerk-off.” Thomas pouted.

Minho stood, ruffling his friends hair on his way out of the apartment. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back. Don’t miss me too much, babe.”

He ignored whatever idiotic thing Thomas yelled at him as he shut the door, making his way to his own apartment. He and Newt spent most nights at Thomas and Teresa’s apartment with them, but Newt had apparently come down with something. Minho asked around and it seemed like he didn’t go to any classes today, either. He had made sure to text his friend during the day to make sure he was alright, always earning a short response in return that was still enough to make Minho smile.

Thomas wasn’t being facetious when he said Minho had been in love with Newt since high school. It seemed strange for someone like Minho to long for a single boy all these years when he could easily go out and get just about anyone he wanted. He was attractive, he knew that, but he really only wanted to be attractive in Newt’s eyes. God, he was whipped.

He stepped into the apartment and was instantly hit with an uncomfortable feeling. It was dead quiet, which never, ever happens. Newt hates the quiet, says it makes him go mad. He always has the TV on or music playing quietly, or even a window open to hear the noises outside. But now, there was nothing but silence and it was suffocating. Something was wrong.

“Newt?” Minho called out, walking further into the apartment. “Newt, you up, buddy?”

Of course he was. It was 9pm and Newt never slept until at least midnight. even when he was sick. He was a bit of an insomniac, anyways, which made the scenario of him passing out even more unlikely. He carried on until a light caught his eye.

The lights in the house were all out but a lamp in Newt’s room. He sighed, heading towards it.

“Come on, Isaacs, what’re you up to?”

There was nothing.

His bed was made perfectly, as if it’d never been touched. The only thing out of place in Newt’s room was the second drawer down on his bedside table, half open. He walked over to it, examining it’s contents.

Disinfectant wipes, cloth, Polysporin, band-aids… a first aid drawer? Minho turned his head to look around the room some more, but something in the drawer caught his eyes. Furrowing his brow, he pulled it out further.

His stomach churned at what he saw.

Blades. At least 50, all heaped together in a brown box. Some new, and some stained. He knew that Newt used to, but… he had stopped… he told him he hadn’t since high school…

Immediately, Minho’s heart stopped.

“Newt?!” he screamed, running out of Newt’s room and to the last place he ever wanted to find him. He burst into the bathroom and immediately collapsed to his knees. He crawled over to the tub, clutching the arm that hung out from it.

“No, no, no, no, Newt, please.” he shook his body, already feeling tears stinging at his eyes.

Newt’s eyes were glassy and his lips dry, but he managed. “M-Min…”

“Newt?! Newt, what the fuck did you do? Newt, please, holy shit, no, no, this isn’t real, no…”

“’M sorry…”

Minho didn’t know what to do. He slid his arms under Newt’s arms, yanking him up and out of the water. “No, no, no, no, I’m not letting you die, I’m not letting you fucking die.”

“P-Please… Minho…” Newt could feel his breathing getting lighter and his eyes becoming heavier.

Minho refused to listen, pulling the soaking boy out of the tub and onto his lap. He slid his phone out, dialing 9-1-1.

“No, Newt, this isn’t happening. You aren’t - I’m not - You can’t. You can’t fucking-”

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Minho took in a shaky breath. “My friend, he tried to… he cut his… suicide. He tried to commit fucking suicide. Send every fucking ambulance in Denver, please, holy shit, he’s lost so much… oh my God… please hurry, holy shit…”

“Sir, I’m-”

Minho hung up, knowing they would have already tracked his call. After texting Thomas a quick “NEWT’S HURT” he tossed his phone to the side, clutching the weak boy in his arms.

“Min, I…”

“Don’t talk, Newt.” he said, his voice trembling more than either of them. “Don’t waste your energy. Just… Just keep your eyes open, okay?”

Newt hummed. “I’m tired, Min…”

“I know you are, Newt, but please… stay with me, stay the hell with me.” Minho begged, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying as he tore his shirt off.

“Hurts, Minho…”

“I know,” he said, ignoring any snarky mark that he would have otherwise said. He ripped two pieces of his shirt off, tying one on each of Newt’s wrists in an attempt to stop the bleeding. “But… please, please keep trying, Newt. I love you so fucking much, please don’t do this. I need you, please, holy shit, I need you, man.”

“Wh-”

“I’ve fucking loved you since junior year of god damn high school, Newt. You’re my best fucking friend. I’d go crazy without you, Newt, holy shit I’d lose my damn mind. I know that you’re hurting but please… Please hold on… let me help, let me try…”

Before Newt could even consider responding, the front door swung open. Thomas ran in, followed by Teresa and several paramedics. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Newt was pulled from Minho’s grasp and loaded onto a stretcher. Newt watched Minho collapse against Thomas and finally shut his eyes.


End file.
